


'S Wonderful

by Gemenied



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 07:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemenied/pseuds/Gemenied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Via Con Me" - Boyd's questions need to be answered. Grace wants to decide how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'S Wonderful

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Please refer to the story "Via Con Me" - the rights belong to exactly the same people. Not one of them is me. (I also promise to leave this particular idea alone afterwards)
> 
> A/N: As the summary says, this is a sequel and as they come, this is even dafter and fluffier than the first story. But it's my final pre-Christmas offering (I believe) and I guess, daft and fluffy is alright. It is for the OHT, but especially for Cat. Many, mucho thanks go to ShadowSamurai83 again for the patient beta with a grin (I guess, it can easily become a catch-phrase that works for both of them)

**'S Wonderful**

It's the middle of the night, when he remembers. It's her bed, wide, antique, brass, very her.

They've done the deed and as sex goes, the first time was far from spectacular. Of course, that's the normal way, but it was the kind of stuff that if they were just in it for the sex, they would have both carefully and awkwardly left the bed and spent the rest of the weekend - separately - thinking how they can place a cloak of forgetfulness over the whole event.

Luckily, they are in this relationship for much more than the sex and so they stayed and revelled - surprisingly much more - in the simple fact that they were in her wide, antique, brass bed, naked, healthy and together.

Then something very insignificant, but oddly sensual, sparked round two and that...was...truly spectacular.

So much so, in fact, that she is still shaking and he's still dazed and limp, with the duvet only haphazardly pulled over them. Every time she moves - he's not yet capable of it - even the tiniest bit, one of them sighs or moans, the shudders rushing through their bodies. It takes some effort for him to turn his head and look at her, and in the low light of a single bedside lamp, her eyes are iridescent and incredibly blue.

With their eyes connected, she mumbles something. Something like "Madonna Mia", which is not something she ever says and thus it reminds him of the revelations earlier that day.

Hoarsely, he manages to speak, and under different circumstances, it would earn him a slap of varying degrees of playfulness, depending on how mellow Grace is feeling. As it is, she is very mellow and too languid to raise her hand for a slap. "Do you always speak Italian after sex?"

"You'd desperately like to know, wouldn't you?" she asks instead. Though she worded it as a question, they both know that it isn't one. Boyd is more than curious.

Since they both know it, he decides that keeping up pretences is a waste of energy they can use much better after an appropriate time of recovery. Now that they have - so very quickly - figured out just how good they are together, he doesn't think he's going to waste any opportunity to do it again. Warm-blooded male he is, even if not an Italian, it's not surprising that in the near and far future he'll be entirely ruled by the demands of his libido. That there is a lot of an emotion that he doesn't want to name involved is ... It is actually more than icing on the cake.

"Yes," he says simply.

Grace is surprised, he can see it, but she is pleased too, which leads to her fingers drawing interesting patterns on his chest and that...is more than a little interesting. Boyd realizes quickly that he might be in real trouble here, the ease with which she can distract him, startling his previous self-perception.

She smiles, her thoughts caught in memories that are fond and golden, full of sunlight and carelessness. Happy. "I don't... I think," she replies after a while, sheepish confusion evident in her expression. "I rarely think of it."

He makes a non-committal noise, his type of reply much more physical and possessive. Of course, Grace notices, but there is little about him and his behaviour towards her that she doesn't notice and has analyzed in moments. That's a worrying thought, the question whether each and every step, each and every act, and each and every word will be dissected and discussed in the future.

But the need to know becomes more urgent as images from the evening flit through his mind. He was seated at another table, halfway across the room, but with an easy view of her and her dinner companion. That might have been a deliberate slight or punishment from the inviting officers. If so, it was certainly effective.

From his seat, he had a first class view of her looking gorgeous and classy, being admired and chatted up by several high-ranking idiots. There's a lesson in there and it wasn't lost on Boyd.

"You think too much," she says.

It startles them both, because it doesn't take a genius to know that this will be his catch-phrase in their future relationship. In fact, it sparks his energy enough to roll over and all but pin her beneath him. Not for the first time that night, Boyd discovers that he likes this position. A lot.

"Tell me about him and I stop," he demands.

Grace raises an eyebrow, clearly amused, but also a little defiant. She won't give him an inch, if she doesn't feel like it.

Oh yes, their future relationship will be exciting alright. On so many levels.

He towers over her, the bulk of his body partially blocking out the light from the lamp. It throws a few interesting shadows and lights over her body. There's the hollow above her collarbone, now shrouded in darkness. If he touches just the tip of his tongue there... Her breasts, half in shadow and in light, the sensation of feeling them against his chest...

"Tell me," he whispers and leans down to kiss his new favourite spot.

She sighs, revelling in the sensation, her playfulness disappearing. She thinks that if she stops the game and just tells him, they might be much more rewardingly occupied.

"Tell me," Boyd repeats, the air of his whisper hot against the shell of her ear.

The battle is won, so he rolls back and takes her with him, her body much lighter on his than the other way around. He likes this too, for it sets off his protective instincts.

"So...Guido..." He cringes when saying the name, and of course, it doesn't even remotely sound correct, but Grace is kind enough not to tease him about it. Seeing Boyd cringe, as he has to mention the other man while they are naked in her bed, is enough to reward her inner wickedness.

"Yes, Guido," she starts, putting emphasis on the proper pronunciation. For a quick moment, she contemplates using the name as running gag in the future, but discards the idea. It's not a thought for here and now. "I met him a long time ago."

"Don't tell me, you got lost somewhere in Italy and this nice Mr. Policeman picked you up and helped you?"

"Of course not...well, actually...he did. In a way."

Boyd groans. "Don't be so bloody oblique, Grace!"

"I already told you the most important part, Boyd." She smirks. "He never was my lover."

"But?"

Of course, he catches up on the slight undertone in her voice. She knows he's that good with nuances when he wants to. Decades of policing, interviewing suspects, work in his favour.

"He was in personal security. In fact, he was until the Carabinieri hired him for a high position about ten years ago. Guido is...a patriot, one could say, the way you are."

"And?" Of course there is more, he knows it and she knows that he knows it. But Grace is reluctant to divulge more, something he has come to realize over the years. While he himself didn't exactly shout information about himself from the rooftop, Boyd has shared the odd thing about his past, about his son. Grace, on the other hand, has been proverbially tight-lipped beyond anything that found its way into her personnel file.

"It was over 35 years ago, Boyd."

"And through a bodyguard you've learned to distinguish really expensive Italian wine from the "two-quid-a-bottle"-stuff?"

She laughs and scoffs at the same time. A typical Grace-reaction.

"Of course not!"

"How then?"

"Guido's charge," she finally admits.

"Who was...?" He doesn't finish the question, doesn't need to. Things are pretty obvious and pretty self-explanatory at this point.

There might be exasperation in her expression, even a little annoyance. But there are also fond and golden memories. Boyd can't help to feel something burn in his gut at the sight. It's not a pleasant thing, not something he wants to feel right now and in this situation.

"What happened?" he asks after a while, during which his thoughts are in disarray and his body moves of its own accord. The silence is tense and a little awkward. It's not the kind of conversation you want to lead on the first night with a new lover, but now that they've gotten so far, they can hardly stop and ignore it, can they?

Grace smiles, fondly, and Boyd realizes that this fondness is not only directed at the past, but at him as well. Whatever she will say now, it will calm him and assure him, and he knows it will be the truth. That's not something Grace will lie about.

"It was wonderful as long as it lasted. But when the time came, I knew it was right to end it."

"He wasn't the proverbial prince charming?" he asks a little hoarsely, but with a small smile as well.

"Oh, he was. That was the problem. Perfect is boring, Boyd. I don't do perfect. And I don't do boring."

"And I'm neither..."

Her smile turns into a slight smirk that is answer enough. "You are jealous too."

Of course he is! How can she even doubt it? His over-protective streak that she has felt for years is only surpassed by his territorial one. It shouldn't surprise her and it doesn't.

As she leans up and begins to nibble along his jaw, her hands begin to wander over his chest and lower. She's a small woman, but she puts all of herself into seducing him and it works. She whispers something against his skin that sounds like incoherent words in Italian, but he quickly finds that he doesn't care what it means or where it came from.

Their awkward and disjointed conversation gave him sufficient time to recover for a possible round three. And dear God, if he isn't up to it yet...he'll definitely have fun getting there.


End file.
